And the Walls Kept Tumbling Down in the City That We Love
by People Person I'm Not
Summary: Germany. The end of World War Two. He had expected a harsh punishment, much like that he had received after the first World War, but he had never even imagined that they would take his country away from him. "...Ich leibe dich, bruder."
1. Many Days Fell Away With Nothing to Show

**Many Days Fell Away With Nothing to Show**

Hushed voices were, Ludwig had decided, far worse than raised ones. At least when people shouted their emotions were clear, everything simply pouring out. Ludwig was not a fan of unchecked emotion, even though he himself was guilty of shouting like that, as he had quite the temper on him.

Regardless, he would much rather be hearing shouting from the room before him than only the occasional murmur of quiet tones. If only he could hear what was being said inside that conference room, one far too large for the only four people that occupied it.

If he were honest, he wasn't even sure why they needed to discuss anything. His fate, and that of Gilbert, had already been decided, he knew, between Alfred, Arthur, Ivan during the two weeks they had spent holed up in Potsdam. Although he did suppose it was entirely possible that they were merely informing Francis of their plans, as, for some reason, the Frenchman had not attended the conference. Ludwig didn't care why at this point-he was done caring. He had far too many new scars from the war, as well as the added toll of millions of souls on his conscience. As Gilbert often said, all nations went to hell. It was impossible they didn't, not when they had to pay for everything done in their names-every single person killed, every drop of blood.

A pale, strong hand gripped his, and Ludwig realized he was shaking. "It'll be okay, Lud," a voice murmured softly in his ear.  
Ludwig hated to show weakness, but the nation sitting beside him had raised him and had seen everything, both the good and the bad. He was the one Ludwig turned to when he needed to take all of the emotions he suppressed, the emotions that were eating him up from the inside out, and just let them go. They were, after all, brothers.

Most people only ever saw the obnoxious facade that Gilbert used as a mask. He had to- he didn't dare let anyone close. He had been hurt too many times. The only person the Prussian was himself around was Ludwig, and that was a mutual give and take. But they were brothers, and neither could truly hide himself around the other.

The door in front of them opened, and Alfred stuck his head out, looking sheepish. "You dudes can come in now," he muttered, opting to brush nonexistent lint off his dark grey suit jacket rather than make eye contact with either brother. Ludwig's heart sank. This couldn't be good, not if the always cheerful American was acting like this.

They entered the room and Alfred gestured at the two empty seats, one between Francis and Ivan, the other between Arthur and himself. "Sit, please."

Both brothers sat, not wanting to cause any more trouble.  
The meeting ran and ran, with the Allied nations explaining things they had decided. Finally, Arthur said, "We have five goals for the occupation of Germany, de-"

"What?" Ludwig and Gilbert spoke in tandem, both thinking they had missed something.

"Occupation?" Gilbert asked, eyes wide.

"Of Germany," Ludwig repeated after Arthur, furious. He had expected a harsh punishment, much like that he had received after the first World War, but had never even imagined that they would take his country away from him.

"Yes, I'll get to that in a moment." Arthur looked irritated at the interruption, and so both brothers shut up. "As I was saying, our goals-or, well, mine and Alfred's and Francis'-are demilitarization, denazification, democratization, decentralization, and decartelization."

Ludwig unconsciously wrote the five goals down, but he was focused on something else Arthur had said. "Only three of you have those goals. What about Ivan?"

Francis took over. "Germany is going to be divided into two parts. The smaller East Germany, Gilbert-" he shot a glance at the nation who was one of his best friends "-and West Germany, which will be represented by you, Ludwig."

"Arthur, Francis, and I divided West Germany into three occupation zones, one for each of us," Alfred continued from Francis. "East Germany goes to the Soviet Union."

Ivan grinned at Gilbert, who gulped, then announced, "I...don't particularly want to go to the Soviet Union…"

"Oh, you stay in East Germany. But East Germany becomes part of the Soviet Union. You become one with me, da?" Ivan answered, still grinning.

Gilbert looked sick. "Lud...help…"

Ludwig wanted desperately to help his brother, but knew full well there was nothing he could do. After the bloodshed and the horror they had all lived through in the war, he knew he needed to cooperate entirely. He couldn't give the Allies any more reasons to be mad at him. "I can't," he murmured, the look on Gilbert's face at his answer tearing his heart in two. "But, Gil… Ich liebe dich, bruder."

* * *

Ludwig would only remember the rest of that day in flashes.

Signing the papers that said he agreed to the Allies' conditions-effectively signing away his country.

Watching Gilbert led away, Gilbird chirping softly on top of his head.

The look of terror the albino shot over his shoulder at Ludwig.

Being told that, for the time being, he was only allowed contact with the three nations who were taking over his country-he had a brief flash of worry for Feliciano, unsure how the somewhat ditzy Italian would cope on his own.

Finding out that while both he and Gilbert would be living in Berlin, they would be forbidden contact.

Alfred mentioning that Berlin was to be divided, just as Germany was.

Being escorted back to his Berlin apartment by Alfred, Arthur, and Francis.

The heightened security on his apartment.

Breaking down in tears once the Allies left.

* * *

It was the second month of his house arrest, and Ludwig was strangely starved for company. He had always been an independent, solitary nation- he hadn't needed people around him before. He supposed that he had grown accustomed to being with others during the time he had been unable to get rid of Feliciano.

But Arthur and Francis had to clean up their own countries-one from German occupation, the other from keeping out the Germans- and tensions were rising between Alfred and Ivan- he had heard the term 'Cold War'- and none of the three had the time to be there to keep a lonely German company.

* * *

Nearly 710 miles away sat someone who would have gladly kept Ludwig company. But the borders of Germany were closed and so he was not allowed to enter the country , so he sat and stared at the water, which, with the reflection of the sky, was nearly the same color as Ludwig's eyes.

* * *

Just across the city was another who wished to be with Ludwig. Or anywhere, really. Anywhere other than where he was. It had only been two months, but the Soviet occupation was taking its toll on Gilbert. His red eyes no longer shone with mischief, and he had lost both several pounds and his easy smile. He wondered idly if Ivan was trying to kill him, and resolved to survive, if for no other reason than to spite the Russian.

* * *

It was another month before Arthur came to visit Ludwig, becoming, in doing so, the first of the Allies, those that remain, that Ludwig has seen seen since the division of his country.  
Arthur tried to hide it, but Ludwig was a military man. He had been trained his whole life to notice everything, and so he noticed the raw skin of Arthur's hands.

"What happened?" he asked, gesturing to the red, broken skin.

Arthur looked down. Ludwig knew what that meant- it was something related to the war. "I was helping clean up from bombings. Moving stones and bricks. It took a toll on my hands." He shrugged. "It's no big deal."

Ludwig sighed. The Luftwaffe, his air force, had been responsible for the bombings. And so, indirectly, he was responsible for Arthur's hands. The war was over, but he was still hurting the Allies. He would never redeem himself.

* * *

**Notes**

The Potsdam Conference was a meeting held in Potsdam, Germany, from July 17th to August 2nd, 1945, between Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill (who was replaced on July 26th by Clement Attlee), and Harry Truman. The point of the meeting was to negotiate terms for the end of World War Two. The French, despite being one of the countries a section of Germany went to, did not attend. Attendance at the conference was by invitation only, and France was not invited. Other countries not invited include, but are not limited to, Italy, Spain, Sweden, and Norway. Apparently the US thought that if, given the choice, those countries would go Communist (interestingly, they were afraid of this, but invited Russia, the Communist country…)

The Allies divided West Germany into three occupation zones-France in the southwest, Britain in the northwest, and the US in the south. East Germany was Soviet territory.

It is 707.8 miles, roughly, from Berlin to Venice.


	2. Bringing Darkness From Above

He had to admit that they were treating him well. The Allies were still occupying his country, but they were treating him well. Ludwig had gotten sick towards the end of the war, the sheer number of deaths taking their toll on him. But now, despite the purging of the Nazis in Germany, or perhaps because of it, he was recovering. He was still sick, of course-he didn't believe that they would let him regain his old strength anytime soon-but Ludwig was definitely feeling better.

* * *

Gilbert, conversely, was not recovering. If anything, he was going the other way, breaking his back to appease the constant demands of the Soviet Union. He was beginning to understand why the Baltic states always trembled so much. Ivan was terrifying-Gilbert had never thought that the awesome Prussia could be this afraid of someone. But the other nation...the best word Gilbert had to describe him was sadist. He seemed to enjoy inflicting pain on others and watching them suffer.

His people lived in fear. Life under the Soviets was hardly better than it had been under the Nazis-the Gestapo had simply been replaced by the Stasi. There was no freedom in his country, such as it was.

He could bear it, though. He was the awesome Prussia, he was strong. He just hoped that he could control the damage, keep it away from Ludwig. His brother acted strong, but Gilbert knew that he wasn't as tough as he acted. Gilbert had raised his brother since he had found the young nation with total amnesia. And he was damned if he'd let anything happen to him now.

* * *

He had gotten a full two hours of sleep before Ivan had woken him, ordering him to do more and more. Very little of his work, if any, even benefitted his own country. Everything was for the good of the Soviet Union, and only the Soviet Union.  
Gilbert Beilschmidt was, in his own vulgar terms, Russia's bitch.

God, he hated himself.

* * *

Amber eyes flew open, and their owner realized he was sobbing. He had been dreaming of a time when he had been called a girl and had worn a green dress and had loved a blond boy with blue eyes. Then Holy Rome had died and Feliciano had been left alone. And now he again loved a blue-eyed blond, and he again had been left alone.

Feliciano was truly crying now. His mind was racing, racing to the conclusion that he was cursed. After all, he had only truly loved two people in his life, and he had lost both of them-one had died, while the other had been torn from him. He needed someone to talk to about it...his brother.

He wiped his eyes, getting out of bed and heading to the phone. He dialed Lovino's number and waited.

"Hola?"

"Oh! Ve- hello, Antonio." Damn it all, his voice was shaking with holding back tears.

"Feli? What's wrong?" Antonio sounded worried.  
Feliciano trusted Antonio-the only people he trusted more were Lovino and, of course, Ludwig. And Antonio was less likely to get angry at him than Lovino was...he could talk to the Spaniard just as well as he could to his brother. "I...I lose everyone I love! Holy Rome...Ludwig…" He hiccupped into a sob.

Antonio remained silent, and Feliciano started panicking. What was wrong?

"Feliciano…" the Spaniard said slowly. "I don't know if I can tell you this-only three people know; myself, Gilbert, and Francis-but I think you need to hear this, need to know. About a hundred years ago Gilbert found this boy, very near to death. He recognized him as the Holy Roman Empire, He took Holy Rome in, took care of him, nursed him back to health."

Feliciano gasped. "Holy Rome is still out there?" His voice sharpened. "Where is he? Antonio, tell me!"

"He had no memories, and Gilbert didn't want to try and convince him of who he was."

The Italian was about ready to reach through the phone and strangle Antonio. Why had he gotten his hopes up?

He must have let out some noise of displeasure, because Antonio continued hurriedly. "He was still a nation, though, and Gilbert couldn't just let him wander on his own. So he gave him a budding nation and a new name, and helped him create a new history for himself. Feli...Holy Rome grew up to be Germany. Grew up to be Ludwig."

Feli didn't know what to think. Holy Rome...Germany...Ludwig… "Grazie, Antonio!" he blurted. and hung up.

* * *

Ludwig was having the dream again. He had had it for as long as he could remember, although he had no idea where it had come from. In it he chased after a little girl in a green dress. The girl had some significance, he was sure, but he didn't know what. And she somehow seemed so familiar.

The dream always woke him, and the gut-wrenching feeling of loss that accompanied it kept him up. So, despite it being all of three in the morning, he got up, dressed, and started cleaning his apartment once again.

Several hours later, Arthur arrived. With him came a pile of papers for Ludwig. "Paperwork, mostly," he said apologetically. "Although you may find this one a bit more interesting." He held out the piece of paper on the top of the pile to Ludwig. It had been folded once, but it was no longer. "We had to read it as a precaution, of course-you understand, I'm sure-but you are more than welcome to it."

Ludwig took the whole stack of papers, setting them neatly on his desk. They were typewritten, except for the top one, which was written in beautiful cursive. His gaze immediately drifted to the signature at the bottom-Feliciano.

He eagerly read the letter, hearing the bubbly Italian's voice in his head.

_Ludwig! How is life in Germany? I miss you a lot. You're my best friend, after all. I was talking to Antonio the other day, and we were talking about Holy Rome. Do you know anything about him? I lived with him when I was little-well, I was a sort of servant in his house_. _Austria and Hungary were there, too. They all thought I was a girl_-I even_ wore a dress! I was scared of Holy Rome at first, but th_en_ we became friends. I kissed him when he left that last time...I wish he had come back. Oh, I got really distracted there. You're probably mad at me. Don't be mad at me, Ludwi_g_! I really do miss you. Mi fratello is getting annoyed with me for always calling him. I wish I could call you, but Alfred and Arthur and Francis won't let me. They say I can write to you, though, which is very nice of them. I do think they're going to read my letters, though. Oh-my boss is calling me! I have to go! Ciao,_ _Feliciano_.

Ludwig had read the entire letter with Feli's voice in his head, even adding in the breathy ve's and ending -a's the other always used. The airheaded Italian had always driven Ludwig mad, but he missed him, just as much as he missed Gilbert...  
Gilbert

Ludwig looked at Arthur. "Can I write to Gilbert? And if I do, can it be sent?"

Arthur considered for a moment. "I personally do not mind. It will really come down to whether or not Ivan will actually let Gilbert receive it. But it does no harm to try."

* * *

Gilbert was getting something to eat between marathon paperwork sessions when Ivan joined him, holding a folded piece of paper in his hand. "The Allies allowed yout brother to write to you," he announced, the sing-song lilt that Gilbert had come to fear in his voice.

The albino fought to control his voice. "May I see it, bitte?"

Ivan appeared to consider for a moment, although Gilbert knew his answer-he could see it in the Russian's eyes. "Nyet," he announced finally, tearing up the letter. One scrap of paper fell by Gilbert's hand, and he glanced at it. It was written in English, probably at the insistence of the Allies, and he recognized Ludwig's neat block print. His brother, with his current memories, was too young to have developed the flowing old-fashioned cursive that most of the other personifications, even Alfred, possessed. But the print, almost compulsively neat, suited Ludwig. He was a brilliant military leader, organized and deadly efficient because of it. He was always cleaning, his clothes, both military and civilian, were pressed and folded...Gilbert was neat, but nowhere near as much as his little brother.

He missed Ludwig. Sure, they had before gone long stretches of time without seeing the other, but it had never been forced like this, and they had always kept in touch. Really, the straight-up fact that they couldn't see each other was what made it so bad.

Ludwig would be fine, Gilbert consoled himself. Alfred, Arthur, and Francis were bizarre and couldn't always get along, but they weren't cruel. They wouldn't intentionally hurt Ludwig. And if they did, well, he would hunt them down and hurt them in return. Once he was free from Ivan, of course.

He sighed. He just hoped that Ludwig was doing better than he was, was stronger-not necessarily as strong as he had been during the war; Alfred, Arthur, and Francis were a lot of things, but they weren't that stupid-was healthy, and not hurt. He could hope

* * *

Alfred, Arthur and Francis were meeting to discuss some things to do with Germany. Not Ludwig, but the country itself. They knew full well that the war hadn't exactly been Ludwig's fault-his boss had gone crazy, had taken over the country with his followers. Most nations were essentially good, but they had trouble resisting the wills of their bosses and their people. If enough citizens of a country felt or thought a certain way, the personification of that country felt and thought the same way. They had no control of it.

"We need to put any and all Nazi leaders we can get our hands on on trial," Francis said.

"That's what I was going to say, frog!" Arthur snapped angrily.

Francis laughed. "Oh, what is it they say-great minds think alike? We must be similar great minds, mon ami." He shot a grin at Arthur, who looked appalled.

"I am nothing like you!" he argued, looking about ready to strangle Francis, who just continued taunting him, until Arthur snapped at lunged at the Frenchman.

Alfred laughed. "Dudes. Germany. Nazis, Are you listening to me? Hellooooooo?"

Arthur and Francis ignored the unlikely event of Alfred being the voice of reason and continued fighting with complete disregard for the task at hand.

"And this is why we get nothing done," Alfred announced. "Good thing Ludwig's not here. He'd be fit to burst." The others continued to ignore him, and the American sighed. "I'll be back when you guys stop fighting. I have stuff to do other than this."  
He headed for the door, and Francis and Arthur stopped and stared at him.

"You can't just leave," Arthur said incredulously. "Didn't I raise you better?"

Alfred scowled. "But we're getting nothing done! All you're doing is arguing, so I see no reason to stay. And besides, this is hardly fair to Ludwig. Going on like this is just leading him on, I guess-taking advantage of him, in a way. His future, and that of his country, his people, depends on the decisions we're supposed to be making. What are you trying to do, go on a filibuster? My Senate does that sometimes, and they get nothing done. I vote closure! This is a complete waste of my time." He crossed his arms firmly.

Arthur and Francis were speechless. They had not expected this sort of behavior from Alfred-it was extremely out of character for the happy-go-lucky American.

"Have either of you even thought about Ludwig?" Alfred demanded. "All we've been focusing on is how to punish Germany-both Ludwig and the actual country, the government, the people. But we've not-oh, damn this. You know how Mattie and I don't always get along, even though he never says anything?"

The other two nations nodded, perplexed as to where Alfred was heading.

"Well, no matter what happens, Mattie is my little brother. I love him, and I'll always protect him. I can't imagine being forcibly separated from him. I would lose my best friend, the person I talk to most, my brother. You following me?"

"I'm not really sure…" Arthur admitted, and Francis nodded, agreeing.

"You seem to have gone completely off-topic," the Frenchman added.

"But I haven't!" Alfred insisted. "Because only think how Ludwig and Gilbert feel. My point is that I understand."

Alfred being deep and insightful in this manner was a rare enough occurrence that Arthur and Francis still had not said anything. They knew, of course, that Alfred was amazingly, brilliantly, frighteningly intelligent, but he didn't usually show it. Instead he hid behind his jokes and his hero complex, as if he were afraid of his own mind, but when he chose to actually be intelligent, when he showed what he was truly capable of, he stunned them all with his comments that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

"I know we can't reunite Gilbert and Ludwig, Ivan would never allow it, but we need to do what we can for Ludwig to help him be happy," Alfred continued in the unnatural silence. "I say we surprise him, br-"

"Ludwig doesn't like surprises," Arthur cut in, but was silenced with a glare from Alfred.

"We read his journal, remember? Best way to make Ludwig happy would be to bring Feliciano to visit him."

Arthur nodded slowly. "He seemed happy, or as happy as he ever does, when I gave him Feliciano's letter. I don't believe that it would be at all a bad thing to bring the two of them together."

Alfred grinned widely. "Awesome. Now, let's get back to that meeting."

* * *

Surprisingly, the trio actually managed to have a productive meeting after that, Alfred keeping his uncommonly serious demeanor so as to keep Arthur and Francis from fighting.

When the meeting was finally over they had accomplished a surprising amount. They had decided dates for trials of Nazi leaders' war crimes-trials that Ludwig would have to attend, as they had been his leaders-and had started in on discussions on what to do after they finished denazification.

"Do either of you know anything about how Gilbert's doing?" Francis asked, sounding concerned.

"Why are you worri-oh," Arthur nodded, remembering. "The 'Bad Touch Trio.' Of course."

Alfred nodded as well. He knew the Bad Touch Trio-they had helped him win his Revolution. "I don't know anything about him," he said apologetically. "But I wouldn't trust Ivan as far as Feliciano could throw him."

"Feliciano would run crying and waving a white flag."  
"Exactly."

* * *

A few days later Ludwig was interrupted from more paperwork by a knock on the door. He frowned, but got up to answer it. The only people it could be were Alfred, Arthur, or Francis, and he couldn't risk making any of them mad. They held his fate in their hands.

He pulled his door open and was attacked by a bouncing mass of nation.

"Ludwig!" Feliciano squealed, wrapping his arms tightly around the other nation.

Ludwig froze, confused. What was Feliciano, of all people, doing there?

The Italian drew back, looking heartbroken. "Ve-do you want me to leave? You don't seem happy to see me."

Ludwig shook his head. He was actually thrilled to see Feliciano, but he was never much of one to show emotion. "Nein!" he exclaimed, not wanting to see the Italian so sad. "You just surprised me."

But Feli wasn't convinced. "You hate me, don't you? My boss switched sides, and I had no choice but to go, too, but I didn't want to. Please don't hate me, Ludwig!" He started crying, though, surprisingly, didn't pull out a white flag.

Ludwig sighed. "I don't hate you, Feli. I know full well that we have to do what our bosses and people say-I have been subjected to that more than once, especially in this last war. The camps, the genocide..." He squeezed one of his hands into a fist. "And we suffer for it."

With government and financial restrictions. With humiliation and loss of power. With the loss of those he held most dear. At least he had Feliciano now. He didn't have Gilbert, but he had someone.

* * *

Gilbert was in bed after yet another endless day of 'running' his 'country' to please Ivan. The other personification still hadn't gone back to his own country, instead spending time making sure that Gilbert was doing what he was supposed to, even after months of the Prussian doing as he was told.

Gilbird cheeped softly,and Gilbert smiled at his pet. The little bird was one of the few things he had left from his old life, one of the few things that made him happy. He had been hiding Gilbird from Ivan, and firmly intended to keep doing so. He couldn't lose anything else to the Soviet Union.

* * *

Arthur waved some pieces of paper at Alfred and Francis. "All the necessary paperwork for West Germany to join NATO and the EU. All they need is Ludwig's signature."

Alfred grinned. "Awesome, dude. Now we're really on track to get Germany-West Germany-back on its feet. Ludwig should be happy."

* * *

**So...I finished writing this ages ago. But I handwrite everything, then type it, and I just haven't had computer time. Chapter three is done, too, but when I get to type it, god only knows. Final thing before historical notes (not that there are many): I'm finishing this up on my phone, and the formatting looks screwy. If it's published weird, sorry...I have no idea how to fix it. **

**Historical Notes:**

**•East Germany's economy was largely organized to meet the needs of the Soviet Union. **

**•The secret police, or Stasi, tightly controlled life in East Germany. **


End file.
